


Catmint Capers

by Amaurotine Clytie (amaurotineclytie)



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Amaurot, Gen, No Romance, akadaemia anyder, amaurotines, excuse to describe amaurot, excuse to write lots of cat stuff, gaelicats, lighthearted comedy, situational comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:29:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28493907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amaurotineclytie/pseuds/Amaurotine%20Clytie
Summary: A new researcher at the Akadaemia just wants to make a good first impression-- but gets tangled in the discovery of catnip and wrangling flying felines.
Kudos: 2





	Catmint Capers

In Amaurot there is a little side-street, not far from the botanical conservatory, lined with rowhouses. To find it, one had to notice the empty space behind a tall jacaranda tree, a cul-de-sac where otherwise there should have been a wall. Indeed, at least one Amaurotine had not known the street existed until her aunt moved into a charming little rowhouse, spent just a decade there, and then flittered off to another residence in the next trendy part of town. As she could not bear to lose access to the lovely little space, and being in search of a quieter residence anyway, Clytie moved into her aunt's old house.

The charitable way to put it is that Clytie had more important things to do than clean, and while the house itself remained as lovely as ever, her second-floor porch was soon cluttered with boxes and half-finished creations, the overflow of an interior even less suitable for hosting company. She tended to form attachments to things easily, and liked keeping them even if she could easily recreate them later-- not just little trinkets given her by friends who now lived far away, but every object that featured in her memories. As she was inclined to link moments to visual images, it took almost no time for the cumulative mix of touchstones to more than overflow the boundaries of good style. It also had a faint odor of old popotoes, which Clytie herself had long since ceased to notice.

Sophocles had not. He stepped gingerly into Clytie's living-dining-room, trying not to trip or tread over a prototype clothing-remixer, and dutifully accepted a seat at the tea table. He balanced the cup and saucer in his hands, rather than trusting it within an ilm of the surface of her table, which might have been, if cleared off and scrubbed clean, a soft shade of blue-green. Pleasantries were dutifully exchanged. 

"To business, then," he suggested.

"I'm going to stop you right there," Clytie said. "I'm not interested in teaching now. Not any time soon, so don't hold any spots for me, either."

"Oh, why is that?"

"It gets so repetitive, class after class, the same basic explanations, every year the same. I feel like this is a terrible thing to say, but sometimes it even starts to feel like the children are the same. I need a break and I don't even know when I'll be up to going back."

Sophocles took a sip of the lavender-rose tea, met with a crowd of floating petals, and scooped them out wordlessly before trying to drink again. "I'm not here from the children's primary. The Akadaemia wishes to invite you as a student."

"Oh. That, I might do. But it's just a maybe. What subject are we talking here?"

Finally he got to deliver the big offer. "The piece on magical oathbindings you had published in this moon's issue of Casual Considerations. Our Most Eminent Lahabrea of the Convocation admired your intellectual rigor and wishes to spend a term mentoring you to-- Oh, is that a yes?"

"He'll teach me personally?" she squeaked. "Lahabrea, actually? Oh, I wanted a teacher who knew so much more than I do! I'm definitely interested!"

Sophocles laughed, and presented the official-looking envelope. "I think I'm a little excited myself, just to be part of such good news, and it isn't even my department."

"Ah, I almost don't want to break the seal. An actual Convocation signet... Let me see if I can just pick off the wax without breaking it."

"You'll surely get more of those," pointed out Sophocles.

"Yes, but this is my first! I'll treasure this forever."

He was inclined to believe her, given the condition of her house. "Well, if you're satisfied with the terms after reading the papers, could you please deliver a formal written answer to the Words of Lahabrea by the end of the month?"

She nodded vigorously. "I know it'll take time to read them, but I'm sure I'll want to do this." The wax seal abruptly lost its hold on the paper and flew across the room, landing inside a large box of distressingly assorted items. "Ah! I think it's intact. I'll find it later."

"There are several terms of agreement," he recited, "and you'll end up putting in long hours, so we understand if you have to decline unexpectedly after checking the conditions. Either way, Lahabrea awaits your reply with great interest. Apparently he has big plans for the topic, and your paper presented just the standpoint he was hoping to find viable."

"I'm sure it'll be hard work and all, but I've so wanted a teacher who knew more than me, for so long. Whatever it is he wants to do, I just want to learn something new from someone! ...Oh, but I bet he feels the same way."

"Surely he'll appreciate your enthusiasm, then. Right?"

"That's right!" Her smile returned. "After all, he did ask. Far be it from me to let this pass me by!"

* * *

Clytie hadn't been in the main Akadaemia building in many years, and only as a tourist; the guest entrance was the only one she knew. The layout had been designed to showcase the school's achievements; each department opened up seamlessly into the next, to let visitors walk through each floor with ease. It was a whole different world from Amaurot's primary school, with its many doors and isolated classrooms; to Clytie it felt less like a school than a museum.

Besides the major fixtures that seldom moved-- a few of these delightful exhibits reminded her of the distant past, and comprised the imagery with which she'd mentally illustrated the relevant principles later in her life-- new creations took the spotlight every year, to ensure the tour stayed fresh and interesting on the umpteenth field trip for young visitors, which the Akadaemia seemed to regard, by and large, as newly sprouting talent to be plucked when ripe. Indeed, a common criticism slung back and forth among the departments-- common enough that all the locals knew it-- was that the Akadaemia treasured new ideas at the occasional expense of old projects. Variety made life worth living, of course; but some of the less useful ongoing developments had been languishing for centuries in the library, still slated to be finished "someday", as they were deprecated by other plans or their artistic appeal went out of fashion.

Yet the faculty provided papers enough reviewing the latest creations, and often published them along with the creator's statement essay in the thick extended guide booklet. One was supposed to take their time working through each department, reading about any of the numbered exhibits that caught their attention; on a few occasions, Clytie herself had not made it past the aquaria by closing time. She didn't dare get caught up in reading when she had someplace to be, but she took a copy of this year's guide booklet just in case. On a more practical note, she took the slim pamphlet with a map.

Many corridors later, she found herself consulting it yet again. The Words of Lahabrea were supposedly on this floor, but these were the Words of Halmarut and warmer than she'd like. She almost stepped on a tomato that seemed to have rolled onto the floor, but instead she carefully stepped around it, and was glad she had done so when it displayed the sentience to stand up on legs, give her a flat stare, and stalk off to its bed. 

She heard a faint giggle and whirled about seeking its source, but a sharp pain suddenly shot through her ankle, and she yelped incoherently out loud. 

An onion had bitten her. 

"Ow!" she followed up insistently and loudly, as if it would relieve the sting just to say it. She yelled the beginning of an inappropriate word as well, before remembering where she was and to be polite, and cut off abruptly. 

Having screamed these incoherent sounds, she crouched and rubbed her pained ankle, and almost missed the dramatic entrance of a figure running breathlessly into the room.

"What's going on? I thought you were one of Pandora's gaelicats loose in my garden again!" 

Clytie looked up in several different types of confusion. "The onion bit me and it hurts." Her voice faded suddenly as she saw the stranger wore the red mask of a Convocation member.

He knelt down beside her. "You have to be careful with those," he said, searching his pockets for something. "The bite itself isn't too bad, but if it breaks the skin, the fluid will sting you. Are you looking for something I can help you with?"

"No, I'm just lost." Clytie sat back on her heels and took in the scene. "I'm so sorry if I'm not supposed to be in here---what's that for?"

"Sprinkle this on the bite; it'll help neutralize the sting." 

"Thank you." Clytie took the little envelope and poured a pinch of white dust onto her ankle; it clung to the damp spot where the onion had rent strange, small marks in her skin. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything important."

"Not at all." The red-masked one scooped up the naughty onion and clutched it close, cradling it like a baby. "I'm sorry I shouted like that. The cats from the Words of Lahabrea keep escaping their enclosure and getting in here. Squirmy little pests, they always tear up the garden and they're so hard to catch in this room." He inclined his head up towards the cross-hatched skylight that formed the department's ceiling.

"So the Words of Lahabrea are close?" she inquired. "I'm on my way there, but I presume I'm in the wrong department."

"You're going the right way. It's a bit of a walk through here, but you're in the Words of Halmarut."

Clytie inquired shyly, "Are you... in fact..."

He smiled warmly. "I am Halmarut." The onion made a tiny sound, and Halmarut stroked its skin, murmuring soft reassurances. "Shall I walk you to your destination?"

Clytie was amazed at how easily such an important person would speak with her, let alone an onion. "Only if you're not busy. Which I'm sure you are, of course."

"Not so busy that I can't spare a moment to set you right." Halmarut stood, brushing crumbled potting soil from his robe and eliciting a squeak from the onion in his other hand. "You're nearly in the right place. Let's get you set up where you belong."

* * *

The cool air of the Words of Lahabrea were a welcome relief after the hothouse of Halmarut's garden. Dark and somewhat narrow, the hallways beyond the braided flat cord that marked the visitors' trail disappeared into sudden turns and closed doors.

The windows were sealed with stone, which she recalled was a safety precaution, but the black marble seemed an oppressively heavy choice. Elaborate statuary, sculptures, even tools mounted on display illustrated the works of the ages, and yet the corridors were lit so dimly that detail disappeared into the shadows. Surely these mysterious, half-concealed works of genius should be better illuminated.

"Why is it so dark in here?" she asked Halmarut.

"I don't know," he admitted. "It's always been this way. Here we are. The office you'll be wanting is on the right. Best of luck!" He gave a quick wave.

"Thank you!" she called as he retreated back to his garden. "You've helped me a lot!"

Several hallways and many sign-in sheets later, Clytie prepared herself mentally, and knocked on Lahabrea's door. At his call she entered, hoping she looked more like a calm adult than the hyperexcited child she felt like, for the first time in oh so long. 

Lahabrea himself sounded quite young, she thought, as if he were a fresh graduate not far from his student days. Of course he couldn't be; she recalled being dragged along to see him speak when she was but a small child. She'd tuned it out, of course, her reading-light set to its dimmest setting as she paged through her light novel, her attention captured far better by the antics of fictional children than a boring adult speech. Mostly, she remembered the hours spent standing in line with her parents to greet him. She hardly remembered the Speaker himself at all, but he must be the same, as his Convocation seat had not come up for change.

Yet he wore the attitude well; he was boundlessly enthusiastic about his topic, treating even famous examples as though he'd never discussed them before, every concept described afresh as though he too were discovering it through her eyes. It was no wonder he was so popular with students, nor that the Akadaemia had felt no need to replace him, as they had with several others during her lifetime. He engaged with her theory as excitedly as she did herself, and the formality of the interview dissolved soon, questions like "have you ever done extensive post-quaternary-school research before" giving way to an entertaining digression about various types of floating explosives and winged horses, which did put her somewhat at ease. His very presence was calming; she had never expected of someone so authoritative at the podium-- and so infamously passionate in argument-- to feel so soothing in person.

She admitted to having a further question. "I'm not entirely sure why my method of oathbinding interests you so. Surely the bindings you know are more than sufficient, if you even need them at all."

"I rarely do," said Lahabrea. "But your proposed method is the kindest and most pleasant I have ever heard. I would like to work with your data to bring it to completion. Aside from the obvious benefit of a better method, I want it for a future project, which I will ask you not to speak of outside this office. Aside from the usual considerations of sealing your aetheric work with privacy, the idea is not yet developed such as to give me confidence in releasing even the concept to the general public, lest it be gravely misunderstood, perhaps even misused through careless application."

"I'll keep it secret, I promise," said Clytie. "What would be so misunderstood about it?"

"Primarily the... exceedingly limited purpose and context in which it might be applicable." He smiled, and the fanged stare of his mask seemed friendly, almost silly. "The novelty might inspire some poorly-planned imitation, which could be hard to clean up. Though I am loath to suggest anyone would misuse it through sheer carelessness, one of the biggest drains on our department's valuable time and attention is the job of containing people's poorly-executed home experiments."

"Oh, goodness, I can imagine so."

"Rescuing hapless young creators from their dubiously-legal constructs uses up energy that is much better spent, I'm sure you will agree, in developing stable versions to be safely distributed," Lahabrea pointed out. "And though there is nothing really frightening in it if used with wisdom and discretion, I shudder to think of the consequences of a mistake."

"You mean, if people used it to bind something they couldn't just banish?"

"Not quite, not the way you're thinking. My plan requires a method to bind not the summon, but the summoner."

"Huh." Clytie frowned, and picked through her confusion to try to formulate a concrete question. "Why would anyone want to do that?"

"It's a way to keep on track for extremely long-term projects to which you are irrevocably committed. To protect your future self from giving up due to potential fatigue or burnout, you may wish to seal yourself such that you must follow through. It's not to be used lightly, but as a contingency for cases when you're not willing to tolerate failure, or giving up."

This had not occurred to her. She sat back in her chair and thought for a moment, as her interviewer plucked several pages from her resume and tucked them into the pockets of a hard-covered file folder.

"That does sound dangerous. Even if they start out doing it for a good reason, won't they seriously risk being bound to do something bad?"

Lahabrea closed the folder on his desk, letting the cover fall shut with a soft clap. "That depends on what you summon."

* * *

Clytie emerged from the office shaken in a wholly different way from her arrival. She would never have imagined the scope of the extraordinary plan taking shape in Lahabrea's file cabinet. So consumed was she in thought that she opened the door beneath the first staircase rather than the second, and found herself in a lab that was definitely occupied.

"Eeeaa!" screeched something, and dove towards her head.

Clytie screamed herself, and ducked just in time to avoid being slammed in the head by a tiny, striped flying creature. The thing zipped harmlessly past her, turned with incredible speed, and then pitched a deliberate dive towards her.

"Nyatalie!" scolded a researcher, rushing toward the cowering Clytie and chasing the little creature back to the ceiling beams, where it perched neatly, wrapped its tail around its feet, and began repeatedly screaming at her. "Stay away from strangers! Oh gosh, I am so sorry. Are you okay?"

Unfolding herself but keeping a wary hand near her mask lest it be knocked aside by another creature, Clytie looked from the researcher to the thing that had attacked her. "I'm fine. Sorry to barge in here; it was a mistake."

The researcher waved her concern aside. "Oh, no worries. As long as nobody loses an eye again. This is excellent data; I couldn't have set it up better if I'd tried." She snapped her light-pen into its slot at the back of her clipboard and bowed in belated greeting. "I'm Pandora. Might I have your name?"

Clytie provided her name and pleasantries, mind turning over the "again" in Pandora's sentence. "What are these little creatures supposed to be?"

"Gaelicats. My attempt to shrink down the sabertooth beast," said Pandora, who looked like she'd made an attempt to shrink down herself; she was one of the shortest people Clytie had ever seen. "The sabertooths eat so much, they're not very efficient. But they're so sweet and adorable!"

"They're sweet?" Clytie scanned the ceiling and spotted several of the tiny creatures crouched on beams, watching her every movement. So these were the little nuisances Halmarut was complaining about. 

"Well, these ones came out a bit aggressive. I did an earlier set without wings, and those ones were too shy. My assistant couldn't get them to come out, and they wouldn't eat with anyone watching them."

Clytie locked eyes with one of the tiny beasts. It gazed back, its enormous eyes hypnotic and unblinking. 

"Oh, uh, but I wouldn't advise looking at them," said Pandora, just as the little thing leapt at Clytie's face. It bonked against her mask and then hovered nearby with an offended look on its tiny face, as if she'd been at fault for something. "Sorry. They're not that bad, really. They've just got a sort of violent way of playing. They can't help it, they have to practice to catch prey. It's just nature." 

"Wouldn't it be safer, perhaps, if they didn't fly at your face?"

"I'll probably leave off the wings in the future," Pandora ruminated. "I wanted to see how their flying speed would match up to running speed. The whole cat line is fast, you know. Fastest we've been able to make anything that runs on land. Did you know they're also super soft?"

"I thought they could put out your eye?"

"Sure they can, but just their claws."

"They really can?!" 

"Sure, but when they feel secure, they pull back all their sharp parts inside their body and they're sooooooo soft on the outside." Pandora made a strange little whispering sound at a gaelicat and held out a hand. "Nyathan? Pspspspspspspsps!"

The furry thing stood up slowly, and stretched its body into a shockingly tall arch that had the whole creature nearly bent double. Launching itself lazily off the arm of a chair, it flapped its way to Pandora's arm and settled down on her wrist, where it began to lick its paws.

"You can touch him if you want," offered the researcher, holding it out. "He won't hurt you."

"How?" Clytie extended a finger towards the tiny creature. 

"Just pet him on the top of the head, in the direction of the fur-- yeah, like that. Oh, don't worry, his ears bend that way normally. Just-- oop! Well, there he goes," she said as the gaelicat leapt into the air and fluttered away. "They're kind of contrary. But aren't they cute?"

Clytie nodded dutifully. "They're like big gray bumblebees. But less... busy." Of the several she had spotted around the room, all but three were sound asleep.

"They are lazy little lumps," admitted Pandora. "But they grow on you in this odd way. Even people who don't take to them right away start to like them after a little while. Much more than any other critter I've worked with, ever. They're just irresistible!"

"Except to maybe some other departments?" suggested Clytie.

"Oh," Pandora said, waving a hand as if to toss the idea away. "Well, if your interests don't accommodate them, there's not much to do about that. For some reason, Halmarut really doesn't like them. I know there was that one time when they escaped the enclosure and got into his rosemary plants, but that was just once."

"Enclosure?" Clytie glanced at the office door.

"Okay, it's not exactly a cage, but they can't open the doors to get out of here. They don't have hands. They can't grab the door handle without thumbs."

"I heard they've been getting into the Words of Halmarut," pointed out Clytie. "It sounded like a frequent problem."

"They got out again?" Pandora tilted her head. "Well. This is news." She moved to consult a chart on the wall. "It seems we'd all better be more careful. Please pardon me, it seems I've got to go speak with our Most Eminent Halmarut." She set down her clipboard on the corner of a desk.

"You're going to go right up to him... Wait. Please." Clytie begged, chasing Pandora to the door. "Do you think you could, um, if you don't mind... can you, maybe, not tell him that I told you? He was talking to me personally. He stopped to help me with an onion bite... and I don't want him to think I was spreading gossip about him."

The researcher looked thoughtful. "Well then, how do I talk to him about it at all?"

"No, I understand you need to have a conversation about it with him, right? What if you just make an excuse. Like, you remember it and you feel bad, right? Maybe you can say that?"

Pandora brightened suddenly, and struck a confident pose, hand on her hip, as though she were about to outline a brilliant plan. "I've got a better idea. What about you come with me and explain what happened?"

* * *

How did this happen to me, thought Clytie, trotting down the dimly lit hallway after Pandora. 

The sound of their shoes on the metal-worked marble hallway was so formal, so weighty, it made her feel like a small child on her way to be scolded. Was Halmarut going to think of her as part of the gaelicat problem? Was she going to get stuck in the middle of drama? Office politics on her very first day? She didn't want Halmarut to think ill of her, especially after he'd been so nice. She'd liked him.

"So I have an idea."

"Oh," said Clytie tonelessly. "What's that?" 

"I'm gonna tell him we want to figure out why the gaelicats ripped up his plants." Pandora looked over her shoulder at her reluctant follower. "I think this can help with both of our work."

"Really? You think he'll be interested in what the cats like to destroy?"

"Probably!" Pandora waved a hand at the nondescript planters of small flowers decorating the lightless hallways. "There are plants in here too, but the cats left them alone. So why those ones?" She jabbed a finger into the air. "We're going to be detectives."

"I still think we're going to get in trouble."

"We won't, it's fine. And I don't want my cats in Halmarut's garden any more than he does."

They rounded a few sharp corners, passing under the luminous blue windows with the repeated hexagonal motif that had always made Clytie think of crystal points clustered together in orderly, harmonious cooperation. A fitting symbol for the Akadaemia, she thought. Orderly. Perhaps Pandora was right; she did work here, after all.

Stepping over the noisy air vents into the Words of Halmarut, they were met sharply with a blast of damp heat. "And these," said Pandora, jabbing a finger in the air as they passed. "These plants here are toxic. If the cats ever decided to chew them, they'd get sick."

"Maybe that would teach them a lesson," suggested Clytie.

"No, they'd get too sick. They're fragile little things. They might die."

"That sounds awful."

"It sure would be." They followed the path around a corner covered in vines, grass on either side dotted with tiny flowers. "I would be upset, actually. I love the little sweethearts. They're going to die someday, I know, just like pets, and I don't want to think about it." Pandora let out a deep sigh. "Maybe it's a mistake to get so attached to them, but I can't help it. They're just so... so..."

"Destructive," announced Halmarut, appearing from around a shelf so covered in ivy it looked to be made of it. "I assume you're talking about the gaelicats."

"I am so sorry they got out," said Pandora, hand over her heart. "I hear it happened more than once? We really must watch the doors more closely."

"Sneaky little things," he grumbled. "Do you know how hard it is to catch them in here?"

Clytie looked up at the sky-lit ceiling, sunlight streaming through glass cross-hatched by wooden rafters well out of reach without a ladder. It was impossible to walk through the department in a straight line; the flowerbeds were tightly packed but irregular, arranged for classification and attractiveness rather than ease of movement. Meanwhile, the ceiling stretched across the whole department; the cats could fly across it at once. She could only imagine the hassle of chasing them around with a net.

"We're here to investigate what happened," announced Pandora. "The cats usually don't care about plants. They ignore them completely. So why did they go so far with these ones?"

Halmarut shrugged. "They must like the taste or something. It's all one kind of plant that they tore up."

"Can I see them?"

"They've long since been pulled up, but they grow back fast. I'll get you some samples." 

"Oh, please, if you don't mind!"

They followed him around the corner down a small shortcut path; he lifted a fern frond that had inconveniently grown outwards into the path, and dipped underneath it. Pandora walked right under it, being the smallest, and Clytie, caught up in admiring the flowers, walked facefirst into it. The rustling leaves, thicker and harder than she'd realized, caught and pulled strands of her hair out from under her hood. 

Awkwardly she tucked her hair back in and tried to smooth it down, but once set loose from the barrettes that held it in place, it was uncooperative and fell forward around her mask. She sighed internally and added "unprofessional and slovenly appearance" to her growing list of first-day mistakes. In the presence of a Convocation member, no less. This was becoming almost comic, she thought, a story to tell someday, when she got over having to live it. After proving her competence in her field.

Halmarut turned and pointed to a bed of unusual-looking pods and extremely large flowers. "Better be glad they didn't get into those."

"What are they?" Pandora wanted to know.

"Carnivorous. They eat bugs."

"The cats aren't bugs, you know," Pandora informed him. "They're pretty big."

"So are the older plants," said Halmarut, leading them around another corner, past a dewy green glistening plant cup the size of a soup pot.

Pandora's face pressed into a frown. "I see."

"It's not that I don't care what happens to your project," he said, in a gentler tone. "This simply isn't a place for animals. It's not safe for them either; I worry for their sake as well as the plants. It's full of toxic and aggressive creatures, meant for the wild."

"Like onions?" suggested Clytie.

Halmarut glanced at her over his shoulder, recognizing her as she spoke for the first time. "Yes. Like onions. It is you, isn't it? Have you found what you were looking for?"

"I think so." She reflected on the interview with Lahabrea, which she'd hardly had a chance to review. "It's strange, but... I think yes."

"Good." He swung open the glass door to a small office. "I'm glad to hear that."

The interior of the office-- one long table, a few stools, cabinets-- was cool and oddly quiet; the sudden contrast made Clytie aware how loud the roaring vents and sprinklers of the hothouse really were. Halmarut opened a drawer and pulled out a pair of heavy clippers. "I'm going to cut some leaves for you to take back with you."

"You don't have to," insisted Pandora.

"It's fine. These plants grow super fast, so I won't miss a few. They're already starting to take over again." He pushed open the door to the noisy garden, and Clytie strained to hear his words. "I should trim them back anyway."

"Well, thank you. I really appreciate it."

"You're welcome. Watch your step here." The sandy gravel of the side path was punctuated with puddles and a running stream of draining water. The end of the path emerged into a clearing that looked familiar; Clytie turned around to view it from another angle, and found it to be indeed the same place she'd met Halmarut earlier. She scanned the ground warily for onions, but none turned up for mischief-- not with their creator watching.

Halmarut stooped by a bed of apparently thriving plants with rustling, petal-like leaves, a soft greyish-green. He snipped a few leafy stalks that were threatening to crowd into the next planter, wrapped them gently in a thin towel, and handed them over to Pandora. "Now, these are a type of mint, and they are edible. Be careful, though. The cats ate them before, but you never know."

"I'll be careful," she promised. "I don't want to risk harming the cats. And... I'm really sorry about your plants. I wouldn't want to see all this ruined. It's really beautiful," she added, taking a moment to gaze around the herb garden. "I appreciate your work, truly."

"I believe you," said Halmarut. "As long as you're taking the matter seriously, no apology is necessary." 

"I'll take care of it, I promise."

* * *

"That went well," observed Clytie on the walk back to Pandora's office.

"Oh, I knew he'd listen. He's so reasonable. I guess it goes with the title--" 

As they made the turn into the office hallway, a red-masked figure pivoted to face them.

"--I mean, you're reasonable too, Most Eminent Lahabrea," finished Pandora. "You're just more... emotionally forthright." 

The clumsiness of Pandora's recovery, oddly, made Clytie feel a bit less intimidated, and she flashed Pandora a tiny, sympathetic smile.

"You're not wrong," said Lahabrea. "We require an even disposition for the Arbiter. While I am terribly amused and distracted by-- that." He pointed at the hall's modest chandelier, upon which draped a gaelicat in a terribly awkward position. It had wedged itself between the arms of two candleholders, and had its torso twisted completely around so its back legs rested on a third. Upon seeing its creator, it began to scream, though it seemed to be enjoying itself.

"Nyatalie!" shouted Pandora. "How did you get out?"

A soft metallic sound drew their attention to another gaelicat poking its nose out from behind the loose metallic cover of a ceiling vent. The grey-striped creature squeezed itself out of the tiny space in one movement, rolling out into midair and hovering. It shook its head rapidly, and the fur around it fluffed out.

"No way," Pandora said. "I measured that vent. There's not enough space for that cat to get through there."

"And yet it did," Lahabrea observed amidst Nyatalie's pointless shrieks. "Felines are loose-jointed; they can squeeze into spaces as small as their heads."

"That small? How is that even comfortable?"

Clytie motioned to the little beast squeaking on the chandelier. "How is that comfortable? I mean, that sort of thing doesn't seem to stop them."

"Well, what do you know." Pandora folded her arms. "That's one mystery solved. I'll fix those vents--"

"Pandora," said the Speaker, and pointed. 

The pint-sized researcher twisted around and waved a hovering gaelicat away from her pocket. "How many of you are out?" she demanded of the creature; it gave no sign of understanding, but screeched and did an unnecessary loop in the air.

"Watch that pocket," Lahabrea suggested. "They're trying to get whatever's in it."

"The mint!" said Clytie.

"They must smell it." Pandora took the little parcel out of her pocket. "They really like it, huh?" The gaelicat landed on her arm and stuck its little nose out, visibly sniffing. 

Clytie giggled. "Ah, it's so cute!"

"See?" said Pandora. "They do grow on you."

"Oh. I guess they do," admitted Clytie.

Pandora beamed. "They'll have you hand-feeding them treats before long. Or not wanting to stand up because it might disturb them."

"I don't know..."

"Dropping a fresh ice cube in their water every hour. Trust me, you'll be at their beck and call before long."

"Let's see if that does happen," suggested Lahabrea. "I want you two to work together for a bit."

Clytie pointed at herself, amazed. Work together with Pandora? This senior researcher who ran around talking to Convocation members about their problems as if it were no big deal?

"Sounds good," Pandora was already saying. "Clytie, what are you working on?"

"Oh..." She looked back and forth between the two of them. "It's supposed to be secret." Did Lahabrea think Pandora's cats held the answer?

"That's fine. You just do whatever you need to do, as long as you're good to my cats."

Clytie watched the gaelicat rub its face aggressively against the wrapping of the plant, repeating the same violent motion several times. Suddenly it rolled over and gave a small squeak, holding its paws limply in the air. The creature was adorable and fascinating, not at all the little nuisance she'd thought it at first-- but it was still the same. What had changed was her view of it. And so quickly, too! "Like magic," she murmured. "Could these cats _make_ people like them?"

"Well, pretty much everyone does," said Pandora.

"No, but why? I mean, it's cute, but I didn't think so at first? And now I'm fascinated." Clytie extended a finger to pet the little gaelicat. "It's almost like they forced me to like them against my will."

"Like mind control?" Pandora ruminated. "Is that possible?"

"It's possible, at least some rudimentary influence. The proofs work out on paper." Clytie shot a glance at Lahabrea, hoping she wasn't saying too much. "If these creatures really have that ability, I'd love to take a look at the matrix to see if it matches a-- a pattern I know about."

"Gosh, I'm sorry if they messed with your mind. Do you think you can take out the pattern?"

"That is hard to say," admitted Clytie. "I'm not sure how to integrate it, let alone take it out. You might just need a new design."

"I'm so sorry," repeated Pandora. "I guess I can't let this design out, huh? I don't mind if they force me to like them; I already liked them anyway; but..."

"You don't know that," Lahabrea observed. At Pandora's dismayed sigh, he shrugged a shoulder. "But it isn't the worst thing. I might just be affected by the mind control, but it doesn't seem harmful, if all they want is food." In response to a particularly loud screech from the chandelier cat, he added, "Or attention."

"I don't mind either," said Clytie. "I mean, liking them is nice. But I think we'd better learn how this works. Right, Lahabrea?" She grinned. This was the perfect excuse to work on her project while keeping it under wraps. "We don't want it to get into the wrong creatures."

"That could be bad," the Speaker agreed. "Keep it to the cats for now, Pandora, but we'll need to look at your matrix. We can't risk its getting into the wrong creation."

"Is there a right creation?" wondered Pandora. "Where you'd actually want that trait?"

Lahabrea smiled. "Possibly, possibly not. At this point, who knows?"

"Exactly," said Clytie, relieved that he was handling the whole coverup for her. "Who knows?"

The gaelicat on Pandora's hand rumbled softly.


End file.
